


Dagger and Wind

by PinkRangerV



Category: Power Rangers, The Avengers - Ambiguous Fandom
Genre: Brothers, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Magic, Mind Control, Not Human, Soul names
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-03
Updated: 2013-03-03
Packaged: 2017-12-04 03:56:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,480
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/706272
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PinkRangerV/pseuds/PinkRangerV
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Clint wasn't sure how he'd ended up knocked on his ass by a fucking Power Ranger, but hell, he was laying on the ground and the Green Ranger was sheathing that damn dagger of his and walking over.</i>
</p>
<p>Power, Magic...in any world, some people call on something <i>other</i>. And their brothers are there when they need to talk. Or get their ass kicked. Same thing. Does require knowledge of both Avengers and PR fandoms.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dagger and Wind

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't been writing because I'm manic, or more specifically because my probably-bipolar-mania decided to be _sneaky_ and instead of just making me happy and hyper _demand I rewrite half my life_. This obviously doesn't work well with long-standing fics, so I tend to stop writing until I'm better, or more specifically until I don't delete half a summer of work because 'it's not good enough'. (Yeah. That was fun. Thank god for Drive saving my trash.)
> 
> On the upside, the bunnies gave me a nice little oneshot, so I'll share it with you. To understand this, you need to know roughly who Tommy Oliver and Clint Barton are in their universes, but that's about it. Enjoy.

He got drunk off his arrows.

When he picked up the bow, he remembered his first kill. Wind. Moonlight. Running after the deer, the one startled by a gunshot, tracking, tracking, until it had slowed and then raising his bow and arrow, taking aim...

He was wind and moonlight drawn into a human shell.

Hawkeye.

It was a clumsy name. When he lost himself in it, he became unnamed. He was living wind and moon, made lethal and pure. But he needed a codename, so why the hell not. Clint Barton was a man with humor and wary charm; he could find the name amusing when he woke.

But when the man fired his arrows, he wasn't Clint Barton.

He wasn't even human.

 

* * *

 

The man walked over, sat down, took one look at Clint, and slid his unopened beer over.

“Not gay.”

“Wasn't proposing. You just need it.”

Clint popped the top off and took a healthy pull. He'd been drinking like Stark, but it wasn't enough. Nothing was. The pain kept coming, and coming, and drowning him, and god, why wasn't it working. Normally Clint got drunk off half a glass of wine! This wasn't fucking fair!

“Not working?”

Clint glared.

The man sighed and flagged the bartender down, placing an order. Clint studied him. Late twenties but one of those people who would always look young; lots of black; silver bracelet with black edging and black gemstone on the wrist. Black hair, too. Didn't seem Goth, just very much liked black. The man raised his own beer—Japanese, not a bad brand either—and Clint resisted the urge to flip him off.

Silence fell.

The man took his wallet out of his pocket and opened it, pulling out a picture and setting it down. Himself, a redheaded woman, four kids that were definitely adopted.

Clint was getting sick enough of the let's-talk bullshit that he took out his brain-mouth filter. “So?”

The man sighed and took the picture away. “Guess it was too much to hope for that we were just having a subtextual conversation.” He turned and extended a hand. “Hi. I'm Tommy. And before you tell me to fuck off, I've got three black belts.”

“Fuck off.”

“Hawkeye, right?” Tommy asked, ignoring the demand. “Call sign, I know...”

“If you want an autograph, I'll sign it over a black eye. Yours.” Clint snapped, taking another pull of the free beer.

Tommy sighed. “Okay, fine.”

Next thing Clint knew he was hitting the wall.

He saw red.

 

* * *

 

Sometime in the fight he switched from seeing red to a cold, lethal assassin.

He reached for bow and arrow, but they were with his uniform, in Av...Stark Tower. So all he had was his gun. SHIELD regulation.

This guy, Tommy, he was good. _Real_ good. Clint coldly ran through options in his head. This guy, he was probably recruiting, since he'd started off playing nice. HYDRA? Nah, they'd have knocked him out first and made the offer when he was tied up and a gun was to Natasha's head. Terrorist cell? Unlikely, this guy was too cold for a wild-eyed fervent.

That left a large organization. Something with money and power.

He needed this guy for Age...for Fury. And he needed this fight over. Now.

Clint raised the weapon.

The wind came. It came without any bidding and like it hadn't for what had felt like forever since that damn battle with the Cthuari, and the moonlight and wind were so _strong_ it felt like he was being knocked over--

And still he held on, without knowing why.

Moonlight. Wind. A deer dead at his feet.

Clint lost himself and fired.

 

* * *

 

The fight was over. Tommy won.

Clint wasn't sure how he'd ended up knocked on his ass by a fucking _Power Ranger_ , but hell, he was laying on the ground and the Green Ranger was sheathing that damn dagger of his and walking over.

Clint hadn't really ever liked that show, but now that the Green Ranger was crouching next to him...Clint felt it. It was hard to put into words for a minute, but then he settled for thinking that if he was wind and moonlight, this man...

He was a dagger and a candle lit in darkness, made man.

...Yeah, getting knocked on the ass by this guy wasn't quite as unbelievable.

“Got a name?” Clint asked.

The Green Ranger tilted his head. He sounded amused. “Yes.” He offered a hand.

Clint took it.

The Green Ranger could teleport. (It felt...wrong...to use those names now. Clint, the Green Ranger. Those weren't right.) Clint found himself on a rooftop. Stark Towers' rooftop, specifically. Hunh.

“You've got a good eye for views.” Clint complimented, walking over to the half-wall on the edge.

The Green Ranger inclined his head.

There was another minute of silence. No anger in it, though. Just...quiet.

“Her name was Rita.” Green walked up to Clint. “Empress of the Dark Dimensions. She...” Green looked away. Clint knew he was shutting his eyes. “I still have to stop myself from saying she's my mother.”

Silence.

“I called him my god.”

Green let him take another minute.

The words started spilling out of Clint. “When I attacked the Helicarrier, I wondered what had taken so long. I only existed to kill Tasha, kill Fury, kill _Phil_ for him. For _Loki_. And then...then I _did_.”

Green said nothing.

Clint screamed. Wind and moonlight filled him, and flew through his fist, and when he hit the wall it crumbled with a flash of blue. Clint fell to his knees.

“I was going to kill four of my classmates and rape the fifth before I murdered her. They were sixteen years old.”

Clint kept his eyes shut, but Green was still there.

“I fucked up.”

“You weren't even there.”

“I killed Phil.”

“You didn't.” Green demorphed and knelt next to Clint, not radiating Power anymore, just...just there. “Look at me.”

Clint looked up.

Mistake. He knew it. He deserved this. He'd fucked up and let Loki in his head and it was his fault...and then Green must've been a fucking hypnotist because suddenly Clint could _hear_ him, could understand what Green was saying like he'd never been able to understand Tasha or Stark or Cap or anyone.

“You weren't there.”

Clint wasn't one to underestimate his emotions. He was fucked up, and broken, and didn't always even know what he was feeling, but he'd already figured he wasn't hardwired like other people. But this hit him like a brick wall.

It wasn't him.

His traumas and the most animal parts of his brain said, no, his fault. Logic, reality, said it wasn't.

They clashed.

Clint rested his head against the broken wall again.

It filtered in slowly. Memories of the pain. Of crying in his own mind as he saw Tasha fighting him, screaming her name. Of pure disgust at the sight of Loki's face.

It hurt.

He cried silently. He always had. Green kept a hand on his shoulder. There weren't words for this, not really. So he cried instead, and Green understood, and Clint saw tears on the other man's eyes too, tears from them both for pain and carrying the stains of blood they'd never spilled.

And then, because all wounds healed, the moonlight and wind returned.

“The picture...” Clint whispered. He...got it. It was strange. What this guy had been trying to say.

“My kids. Adopted, they ended up Rangers and I just...” Green trailed off.

Clint nodded.

“It took a long time. But it starts down there. With your team.” Green frowned. “I...had a little mishap with an invisiportal, but since I was stuck here a few days, I started watching the news.”

Clint raised an eyebrow. “Felt sorry for me?”

“No.” Green smiled dryly. “Just thought I should introduce myself before you decided to introduce yourself by making Call Me Maybe my permanent ringtone.”

Clint snorted. “Yeah. Probably.”

They stood together. “Want to come hang out?” Clint asked slowly, gesturing to the doors for Avenger Tower. “Tasha'd love to meet you. Tony _definitely_ would.” And he knew, he saw himself substituting the words, or maybe just using the right ones, but they were working now.

“I should keep my head down.” Green said with a shake of the head. “Anton—my friend—he'll have the invisiportals up and running soon, and I don't think I'm coming back. But...”

He'd wanted to say hello to a brother. Clint got that.

Green turned to go, then paused a few feet away from Clint. “Death-prince.”

A name.

“Hunting Wind.”

The Death-prince nodded and vanished in a flash of flame. The Hunting Wind paused for a moment, feeling again his elements and his humanity.

Then, taking the name of Clint Barton, he went home to his team.


End file.
